We Are Gathered Here
by naiad8
Summary: March 1946. Truly the very last meeting of The Five. What momentous event could bring them all together one final time? Part of the world built in Nine Times Nikola Tesla...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I have no beta, so blame my many errors on me. I would like to thank the few, the awesome, the folks who still read and review in this fandom! I would especially like to thank ladyro7, whose requests for additions to the world of "Nine Times Nikola Tesla..." got me thinking about this story.

6 chapters are planned, but it may extend to 7 if I jump to future events as well.

On with the show!

Betws-y-Coed train station, Wales, UK, March 27, 1946

James Watson looked down at the slushy mud on his handmade Seville row shoes and sighed softly. That's what he got for trying to walk through a tiny Welsh town on the cusp of Spring. Mud covered up with the faintest dusting of the snow. Morning snow, which had fallen just as he was exiting his early train. A subtle canvassing of the town revealed absolutely nothing of interest except that there had been a couple of "odd ducks" who had arrived in Betws-y-Coed in the past week, but they'd all been trundled up to Snowdonia Park, quick as you please. Anything else about the town was not particularly unique to any small town in Britain, Scotland or Wales. There was still rationing to complain about but the menfolk were back, and the war was finally, finally over.

He paced the platform at the train station, trying to stay active. His machine didn't particular like the cold, though heat was by far more troublesome. But truly, he felt more alive than he had in months. Helen had contacted him, was likely hereabouts even now. Perhaps she had forgiven him his descent into depression and indulgence with cocaine and vice. Perhaps he could make amends, though they would likely never have the easy companionship they once had. To continue their relationship was not fair to Helen, who of all people deserved real love! Something he himself was never likely to find, not with his proclivities. Not with John so lost to every gentler feeling.

James had been caught up in a descending circle of negative thoughts, so he was startled when he noticed the unremarkable man standing at the opposite end of the platform. He turned his lips upward in vague amusement as he read the small chalk board he carried which read, "Sherlock".

Now, either Helen was still very much upset him, or she was in a teasing mood the likes of which he hadn't seen in decades, or this wasn't Helen at all. In fact, it sounded much more like Nigel, or even Nikola. But Nigel was happily on an extended honeymoon with his little French wife, and Tesla had completely disappeared after his prison at Bletchley park had imploded.

He walked up to the man with the sign. "I believe, good man, that you are looking for me."

The man grinned tightly, revealing only a little of teeth that were quite an odd shade of yellow. "Hello guvnor. the Lady said ya'd be early like and she's rarely wrong about time." Watson noticed the odd reverence within the term "Lady", and assumed that somehow Helen had quite won this fellow over. Had she somehow completely lied to him about setting out for America, after the horrors she'd seen in Eastern Europe? She'd been so haunted, not even his desertion seemed to evoke a response. It had been hell on Earth, and he'd took the coward's way out, escaping back to London and his books and his medicine and his comfortable study. She had wanted a fresh start, had wanted to leave Europe far behind.

But had she instead remained in England, toiling away at some odd project without his knowledge? His head throbbed suddenly with the makings of a ripping headache, and his normally exquisitely organized thought seemed to run over in a chaotic cascade. Something in his mind was blocked, faulty. Something was afoot.

"Please, my good fellow, we mustn't keep your Lady waiting."

The irreverent driver chuckled thickly and blinked, his second set of vertical eyelids revealing him to be an Abnormal, of course. "Oh, she's not mine, and don't go sayin' that around too loud like. Certain toffs'll get jealous, 'specially today!"

The man spun around, and Watson picked up the small valise he'd brought with him in case he'd be staying for more than an afternoon. And he followed, his mind turning over what was revealed and not revealed by this man's words. What was special about today?

The truck was new once, back at the end of the last War. It was once black and it was fairly clean, a few crates in the back holding some kind of libation in quantity. He wondered if that was what they truly contained or if there was something more mysterious they were carrying in the flatbed. The radio played a droning version of some kind of jazz...nothing he could care to name. The bumpy road up into the mountains set his teeth clacking but he'd endured worse for Helen. There was one moment that the radio screamed with static and an odd buzz seemed to wash over his skin...it almost felt like Tesla's EM sheild on the London Sanctuary, but that seemed impossible. The driver turned off the radio and began to hum an old tune with an odd resonance. He didn't speak again, just smiling every so often with those sharp yellow teeth.

They stopped at a cottage high in the foothills before reaching the peaks, whose single window overlooked a deep blue lake. It was a tiny thatched hut, and Watson couldn't imagine Helen living in such a place, but the driver killed the engine and hopped out of the truck, bustling toward the back where the crates were stored. Watson himself got out slowly taking in the dusting of snow, the a white glaze over the brown grass that stretched for miles over the rolling hills, and the odd nature of a number of muddy footprints in the frost.

"Well, in wit ya now. Lady's busy an' no doubt runnin' late. "

Watson nodded and grabbed his valise, striding into the cottage as another, stronger buzz hummed over his skin. For all that this place appeared entirely mundane and unassuming, it apparently boasted some remarkable security.

He bent to enter the low threshold, straightening up upon entry to see the whitewashed walls and a simple wooden table, with little else but a linen curtain blocking off a corner of the room. The curtain twitched back, and then Helen appeared, a wide smile on her face that actually reached her eyes. He could take in nothing else for a long moment. He had not seen that smile on Helen's face in more decades than he cared to count. He had forgotten how utterly captivating she truly was. She advanced toward him, arms outstretched, and he noticed her odd ensemble, blue silk slippers and a deep green silk robe, and a thin white scarf covering her hair.

He held open his arms and wrapped her in a heartfelt hug, reveling in her apparent forgiveness for abandoning her to the horrors of the East and for drowning himself in the vices that were his oldest friends. But even as he held the woman he had called his own for two decades in his arms, his partner and friend, he noted the pins in her hair under the kerchief, the scent of orange blossoms on her skin, the fact that her hips were wider then they had been just a few months ago, the lines in her face were different, her posture more assured. His head throbbed, the pain growing as his mind spun.

She drew back, and the look in her eyes, the wistful nostalgia...he spoke sharply, suddenly on high alert. "I would say that was quite a greeting for a man you deservedly walked out on two months ago for the wonders of America. But I am quite certain that it has been far far longer that two months. I don't know how, or why, but I know you are not the same Helen Magnus."

She smiled softly, obviously completely unthreatened by his declaration. He grit his teeth and dropped the valise, his hands pressing against his temples as pain flared.

She spoke softly, as though she knew every word send a lance of pain through his skull. "It's been forty eight years I've been deprived of your company. You are far far too clever for me, James." She paused and swallowed, a pained look on her face as she spoke deliberately, carefully. "You really are a walking medical miracle."

The pain soared and then dissolved, leaving him with weeks' worth of memories that he'd locked away long ago. A dark Helen in 1898, trapped in the wrong time. Destroying the mad Adam Worth and sending her off to live a life in quiet solitude, then having her return not a week later, her face practically green and desperation in her eyes. A mad rush to cross the ocean in the fastest ship, a train from New York to the wilds of Colorado. A clever telegram to Tesla about a lucrative contract for a stasis box for living tissue. And an insane raid to steal secrets and a prototype from one of their oldest friends. And surgery in a primitive medical school in a rocky-strewn town actually called Boulder! All of it meant to rescue a child from being born into the wrong time. This was the much older, much wiser Helen, who had once been so very sad, underneath all the confidence and purpose. Yet here she was, now gloriously happy. Why?

He captured her left hand and it revealed a ring, as he suspected. A metal with an odd sheen that suggested electrum, and a smooth round blue stone the same shade as her eyes...a pale blue star sapphire, remarkably rare except for certain mountains in India, mere steps aware from the last stronghold of the vampire race. He looked at the side of her neck, the same place he'd seen the deep scar on that dark, hard Helen of long ago. It was still there, along with marks that indicated it had been opened and healed again. Frequently.

Finally.

"Oh Helen! It truly did take several lifetimes for you to be willing to put the man out of his misery!"

She smiled up at him, a twinkle in her eye and a wry grin on her lips. "I had almost forgotten just how impossible it is to conceal anything from you, James. But yes, I couldn't quite stay in the shadows as much as you counciled I should. And I'm afriad that I couldn't do it alone."

Watson smiled at her, a mixture of pain and happiness gripping his heart. He wished he'd been the one to make her this happy. He wished that she could have brought this kind of light to his life. He wondered if he would ever be able to find this, or if the intricacies of the human puzzle would always make him immune to the inevitable fall that passionate love requires.

"And I know I should not bring out your memories. You've been very good so far not to chastise me, James. But I needed you. We both needed you. We're getting married today." She smiled, tears in the corner of her eyes that seemed to shock both of them into silence.

Another, even more cheerful voice echoed in the small space, "So, what do you say, old man? Will you be one of our best men?"

A smug sounding Nikola Tesla emerged from behind the curtain, hands in his pockets and a wide grin on his face, his eyes covered with a dramatic slash of black silk.

He was followed by a humanoid with dark green scales and bright blue eyes that were filled to the brim with irritation, her voice was deep and sultry even as she boiled with anger, "I'm sorry Helen. I just couldn't keep him occupied and he insisted on following you here. He's like a child searching for a sweet!"

Nikola leered at Helen despite the impediment of the blindfold. "What a perfect metaphor for you, moja dragi. You are definitely sweet."

He strode forward and with unerring accuracy stuck out his hand in a very American fashion, one that was surprising for a man who was once so adverse to touch. James seized his hand in a firm grip and Nikola smiled widely, his face full of the same genuine glee that seemed to make both Helen and he light up like one of Edison's lightbulbs.

"It's good to see you, or at least hear you, Watson. Sorry I was so insufferable the last time we met. You had something of mine, you know."

Helen elbowed him in the ribs. "May I remind you that for me that was more than a century in the past. And what are you doing here, Nikola? You aren't supposed to..."

"...see the bride until the ceremony. Well, why do you think I'm wearing a blindfold? Silly British superstition doesn't say anything about hearing, smelling," he grinned lasciviously and wrapped his arm around her waist, dipping his head down to press a kiss against her neck, "or even tasting the bride before the ceremony, now does it?"

Helen rolled her eyes and let out a huff of annoyance, but she didn't push him away either. James was more than a little shocked by the easy intimacy between these two. If he wasn't so concerned about the stability of the time stream, he'd want to spend more time with these oldest of friends, more time to try and unlock the secret to their contentment.

"Time flies, honored ones." The repilian woman tapped her foot on the dirt floor, the cream silk of her gown rippling with her impatience. "All of O Dan y Ddinas awaits this day. To be late would be inauspicious."

Nikola let go of his bride to be and smiled again, "What do you say, James? Come see our little projects and tell us what you think. Just a few minutes at a little ceremony, and then a grand party. I've even got that brandy you like."

Helen smiled at him, holding her right hand out to beckon him in. "Please James. Say you will?"

How could he deny her? How could he deny either of them?

When he got to the other side of the curtain, and saw the glowing bubble of a railcar sitting practically in midair upon a rail as thin as a good book, he knew he had to see just what kind of trouble these two had managed to create. That really had been not one, but two EM sheilds he had passed through to reach this place. Tesla had disappeared so often in the past fifty years, just what mischief had they been getting up to?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

**A/N: Thanks to some recent requests for more, I'll continue this story. There should be six chapters in total, but I may be slow. Bug me and I'll write faster. Thanks to all who review, you rock! And this has no beta, so it's a mess. Next up should be Nigel.**

The man who was once Gregory Magnus had forgotten what the surface was like. The scent of fresh roses. The odd rolling waddle of a fat pigeon. The glint of sunlight off his wife's, or his daughter's, blonde curls.

Although, he wasn't at the surface, not yet. He was in a blessed in-between world, standing at a hedge of richly scented roses that were blood red on the inside and pristine white on the outside. The murmur of happy voices filled the air, waiting for events to come, a crowd of witnesses gathered on benches on the other side of this living wall. But he stood here alone with his thoughts, his only companion a white pigeon with gray wings that seemed to cock her head at him and stare with intense curiosity. Most likely one of Tesla's pets. Odd man.

Guilt coiled in his stomach, and he shoved it down. Guilt had no place in this day.

He'd known he was wrong, making his disapproval so clear. It was 1878, and his 28 year old daughter, a confirmed spinster who was only interested in a life of a mind, suddenly spent all her time with a boy...no a man, who treated her like an equal, but whose eyes had held desire. He was a foreigner and full of himself. He embraced change and derided tradition. He was perfect for Helen, but he set Gregory's teeth on edge. He'd made his displeasure known, but he had truly thought that he was going to end up with a Serbian for a son-in-law. But it never happened.

James Watson had been a very interesting man, and he'd enjoyed their debates. He would not have been a bad option, but the man did not bring out Helen's true vivacity. Watson had quite obviously loved his Helen, but in the way a man loves a beautiful idea or a stunning work of art or a noble cause, not a flesh and blood female.

Then, when Montague Druitt had come courting, at first Gregory had been relieved. He was the perfect gentleman, who had the impeccable breeding and manners that any man would want for his daughter, and the intellect that Helen required for her passionate mind. But there was something that niggled him, something dark and twisted that lurked within the man, that made him think twice about letting her alone with that man. He'd shaken it off, allowed their engagement, ignored the sorrow pulsating from the man who had turned into a vampire - a man who had everything Gregory had wanted to know about, but who radiated frustration and stilfed brilliance and need with every breath.

He'd seen Druitt go mad, and Helen's heart broken. He'd seen Nikola Tesla leave London for America.

And he'd done nothing for his daughter but leave himself. He'd build his tests at Bhallassam, forcing Tesla and Helen into some kind of proximity. He knew they should be together, that without his interference maybe his little girl would never have been hurt.

But guilt had no place on this day.

He and his pigeon friend stood at the gate of an immense underground garden, the whisper of fountains and the murmur of the waiting crowd reaching them from over the rose hedges that had been bred to thrive amongst the orchids and fungi that were native to this underground haven.

It wasn't Praxis, but his little girl had created a true Sanctuary under the Welsh hills, and in her face he could see all the beauty and brilliance of her mother, combined with his own drive. He'd almost forgotten just how proud he was of her. How much he missed her.

It had been fifty years since he'd investigated a cave on the Sinai peninsula and had ended up a prisoner of Praxis. Fifty years since he'd been so close to the surface. He'd been so immersed in trying to learn everything, to take in the unique and brilliant world he'd discovered, that years seemed to go by when he'd entirely forgotten what life was like in England. His dead wife, his beloved daughter, all of it had been pushed into a tiny corner of his mind. They would not let him return to his life, given what he knew of Hollow Earth. And he'd thought Helen was long dead by the time he'd heard differently.

The High Council had received a coded message from the surface. There were rumors of a massive war above, one that would rock the entire planet. There were energy signatures that had truly frightened the people of Praxis. Tunnels that had once allowed a tiny amount of traffic to the surface for rare minerals and biolgicals where shut down entirely. To have received a message from so close to the surface so soon after such a war, the Council had been more than suspicious. When the message had asked for him by name, he'd been brought forward, interogated and belittled just as he had been when he'd first been brought here, so long ago.

But it was all worth it, to know that his Helen was still alive. That Adam Worth wasn't just a dangerous madman who had bamboozled the Praxian authorities into revealing just a fraction of their scientific secrets. Worth had said that he knew an evil woman who never aged, and that his daughter was a ruthless tyrant who refused her help to the needy. He'd known Worth was a liar, and that his Helen was far from evil. Controlling, perhaps. Immortal? They had never discovered her gift from the Source Blood. Perhaps she was somehow still alive. He had not dared to hope that he would get to see her one day.

Then, she'd asked for him by name and hinted that she wanted him as a emissary to warn of dangers to those below. She said she needed him and only him. And he'd been allowed to come so close to the surface, and to walk into this vast cavern and see the world she'd built and look into her blue eyes and hold her once again in his arms.

But he was here to give her away.

There were soft footsteps, and there she was, her reptilian friend by her side. She was truly a remarkable woman, his little girl. Helen smiled with her entire being as she took hold of his arm, and Gregory ceased trying to wrap his mind around the complexities that had brought them here to this moment. He looked up for a moment at the soaring stalagtites that gave this cavern the feeling of a giant cathedral, and the artifical sun against the far wall completed the look with it's gentle rose-orange glow, like light through a stained glass window.

He looked back to his daughter and smiled, a tear threatening to fall in the corner of his eye. Her hair was in thick dark, a rich chocolate that surprisingly suited her. Her gown was unconventional to say the least, but he knew that the Serbian would be struck dumb by the thing. But her eyes shone, a happy blush upon her cheeks. She was filled with a life and hope that he'd long forgotten could exist. In this moment, his daughter gave him new life, and new determination. There was so much still to be done.

He passed a hand to gather that tear and smile broadly. "Come now, my dear girl. You finally settle on one of your men, I think he's waited long enough."

She laughed, a rich sound full of layers of meaning he might never tease out. She shook her head and smiled mysteriously, and gestured to the tall, reed thin abnormal who seemed to suddenly guard the garden gates, who placed his webbed hands on the handles.

"I love you, Father. And I missed you." She tugged him forward, but he was rooted to the spot.

He clutched at her hand, and let his tears break free. "Even when I forget all that I was, Helen, I love you. Don't ever think differently, my dear girl."

She sucked in a breath, and he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she nodded at him, a small careful smile on her face.

He placed her hand back on his elbow, and nodded at the silent man at the gates. He threw open the gates, and the trilling of unearthly flutes began, signaling the entrance of the bride. She took the first step forward, and this time, he followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"That ascot is not trying to strangle you, Griffin, no matter how many times you tug on it and threaten its structural integrity."

Nigel Griffin squinted his eyes at James Watson and restrained himself from the urge to stick out his tongue at one of his oldest friends. Watson, of course, stood calm and collected in his formal grey morning suit, white ascot perfect, pale grey silk vest buttoned high over the bulk of his machine.

"James, I think our friend just got too used to a complete lack of formal attire, or any attire, while engaged in...important work." Nikola Tesla grinned, fairly bouncing on his heels, tails flapping on the dove grey formal suit. "I'm sorry Nigel, but Helen won't let you be invisible, or naked, at our wedding. Though the reception might just be a free for all, depends on how much champagne she drinks. I splurged for the really good stuff."

Nigel Griffin sighed heavily, the only thing possible in the face of Nikola Tesla at full throttle. Still it was good to see the man happy. The last time they'd all been together, it was before Normandy, and the world had been madness. Now, things were looking up. Tesla was thrumming with so much energy he looked like he was about to jump over the bloody rose bushes and hunt down his bride and drag her to the altar. "Calm down, Tesla. No matter how much you hop about or how much these bloody suits look like a pigeon costume, you are not about to take flight."

It was Nikola's turn to narrow his eyes and glare meaningfully, his hands coming up to tug on the deep red of his own cravat as though he wished it was Nigel's throat. Nikola opened his mouth to deliver a cutting response, when the odd string music playing in the garden clearing shifted slightly, as though in preparation. Tesla's head whipped around and he grinned at the lion-faced hulk who was going to be the officiant. The calm though intimidating vicar nodded slightly, and led three of Helen's men out from between the rows of roses and through an arbor into a wide clearing filled with benches and a few dozen creatures of every persuasion, some humanoid and some distinctly not. Nigel had seen just about every creature Helen had every brought into her Sanctuary in London, and still he was awed by the diversity of these strange underground society he'd been dragged into.

But really, he had eyes now only for one small human female in the front row, who looked utterly unperturbed by the madness she was surrounded with. His Jeanette smiled at him with a knowing grin and an arched Gallic eyebrow, and he grinned back as he was led into his place at Nikola's side by the simple altar. He couldn't take his eye off of her, his beautiful cheeky French wife. His own wedding had been a rushed chaos in a half bombed out church outside of Paris, him in a jumped and filthy green trousers, Jeanette in drab brown from head to toe, steel toed boots and a bunch of half-wilted daisy's the ancient organ player had thrust into her hands. He was about to head into Germany, and she was not going to let him go without staking her claim on him.

It was not the first time he'd married, but this was going to be the one that counted.

Now, his Jeanie sat demurring in a green silk dress, a hand resting over the curve of her stomach where their child lay underneath. They were starting a new life, him away from thievery and his long English rap sheet, and she away from the Continental politics that had taken all of her family. They were days away from moving to America, there to hide and find a new life where he'd become invisible in an entirely new way. He stopped using his powers at all, intent on living rather than escaping anymore. He could feel the years start to catch up with him - knew that without using his invisibility or borrowing Helen's longevity, he was doomed to finally live a real, honest lifetime. He was ninety nine years old, and it was about time to grow up. He'd seen enough of this bloody world, and was happy to experience a wife and a family and then disappear in the more conventional manner, dying in his bed with his wife beside him. Or under him. Or above him.

Jeanette made it all seem worth it.

"So, tell me Nigel, how's the married life? Should I start running now?"

Nigel turned back to a grinning Nikola, who smiled at Jeanette flirtatiously and nodded at her. She giggled, and Nigel rolled his eyes. It was good to have this Nikola back, the friend from Oxford with the wry sense of humor and the heart on his sleeve. Not the megalomanic with delusions of grandeur. Helen really was a miracle worker.

Nigel found himself quite distressingly honest. "Well, hurting her hurts me more than getting slashed with a knife, but I'm sure you already know that."

Nikola gave a friendly sneer. "Oh, much worse. And I know slashes from the very best." They both knew who had been wielding the knife that had injured them both at various times over the last fifty-odd years. The only member of The Five who was most definitely not invited to this party.

Nigel moved on, not needing Nikola to descend into the wrathful pool of hatred that he wallowed in at the mention of Montague John Druitt. "But truly, the thing that I'm most surprised by is the sex."

Nikola frowned. "What, it gets dull? I can assure you that…"

Nigel laughed. "Oh no, no, no," he gave a wide sinful grin, "It gets better. Something about making a legal commitment in front of other people and all the inhibitions go out the window."

Nikola arched an eyebrow and Nigel could practically see his eyes glaze over at the thought. James cleared his throat, looking half amused and half in pain. Nikola grinned at him ruthlessly.

"If that's the case, she might just kill me. And I'll die happy." He looked at James and narrowed his eyes. "Very happily."

James glowered at him, "Yes well, I'm sure you can understand that while I wish you well in your marriage, I really have no desire to think on that particular benefit."

"Too soon I suppose." He continued grinning ruthlessly, and Nigel rolled his eyes as James grew increasingly pink.

The music paused, and Nigel watched as Nikola seemed to still like a bell about to be chimed, or a glass about to shatter, or the calm before the epic explosion. He hoped that the man would find some outlet for all that energy without erupting into a shower of sparks by the end of the ceremony. Then Nikola spun toward the vine-covered gates at the end of the garden, and Nigel smiled toward Jeanette, laughing softly.

A stately and utterly alien music began, something unlike any wedding march Nigel had every heard, full of percussive chimes and low-pitched flutes that echoed in the giant cavern and seemed like the heavens were singing. The gates opened, and revealed Gregory Magnus, a man missing for five decades, standing proud with his daughter on his arm. And Helen, oh Helen. She was a vision.

Nigel had never been in love with Helen, not like all the others. He loved her, of course he loved her, but she was a sister, a friend, and sometimes more than a little scary in her stern maternal power. But today he could see just what attracted Nikola and James and John to risk the fire of her temper. She was radiant, her skin glowing, her hair long and dark and cascading down her shoulders. And the dress! Red. Crimson red. Some lacy material or other that clung to her shoulders and hips and trailed down into a train that would have been the envy of any Victoria lady, but left her shoulders and neck temptingly bare, with just a hint of a dip into her generous cleavage. She did not look at all like a conventional 1947, or 1888 bride. But she looked like she was celebrating the happiest day of her life, and he'd never seen such a smile on her face. She took a step forward, and Gregory was practically towed along in her wake, she seemed quite determined to get to the end of that aisle.

Nigel turned his head to look at Nikola, and had to suppress the urge to burst out laughing. The man looked utterly gobsmacked, his mouth hanging open, his expression halfway between shock and hunger. James just muttered under his breath with wry amusement, "Oh that woman. Never one to be conventional about anything at all."

Nikola just blinked and watched her approach and breathed out. "No, but she's mine." And a smile to match Helen's blossomed across his face. Happiness looked good on both of them.

Helen's dress, except for the neckline. moorecreativeweddings wp-content/uploads/2016/02/ chinese-style-wedding-dress .jpg


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